Happy day

Today is my birthday. I'm thirty-one years old if you're keeping score at home. It's been quite a year. Cale asked me the other day how I'd like to spend my birthday. I told him in seclusion with a good book (and probably an Iced Capp!). That's not going to happen today. There are little mouths to feed, bottoms to wipe, arguments to referee, dishes to wash and a house to care for.

But that's okay. If I were all alone today I wouldn't have sticky fingers brushing my hair off my face to see if I looked different since it's my birthday. I wouldn't have gotten an extended cuddle time with a diaper clad boy in bed this morning. I wouldn't get to listen to "Happy Birthday" being sung 10 times over by an enthusiastic preschooler. I wouldn't get to sit and read books about mittens and play games. There'd be no little boy to teach body parts to or get sweet kisses from.

So I'll take a day with these sweet hooligans and remember that they are a dream come true for this girl. A happy day to me, indeed.